


Scrumptiously Skyeward

by Zaffie



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: And Then The Kitchen Exploded, Bad Cooking, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Gen, If Skye And Ward Opened A Restaurant This Is How It Would Go, Skye Can't Cook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaffie/pseuds/Zaffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye wants it to go down on the record that none of this was her idea. She had a forboding feeling in the pit of her stomach from the moment Ward suggested cooking lessons, and, really, Fitz fixed the toaster so... no harm, no foul, you know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scrumptiously Skyeward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aislingyngaio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aislingyngaio/gifts).



> So, Ais and I have a bit of a bribe fest going on, which is mostly me bribing her and then threatening to punch her and... yeah. It's a very healthy relationship. This is phase 2 in my bribery (also a reward for posting a fic earlier today, even if it wasn't my bears).

Skye can’t cook. Somehow, this comes up in a conversation with Ward, and he actually has the temerity to be _surprised_ about it.

     “Well there aren’t exactly people cueing up to teach you how to boil an egg when you live in a nun-filled orphanage,” Skye tells him.

     He still looks confused, like he can’t quite believe it. Skye rolls her eyes. Well, no one said he had _brains_ under that gorgeous face of his. Sometimes, the man really is much more like a machine.

     Anyway, he views her lack of cooking skills as though it is a personal insult towards him. “I’ll teach you to cook,” he promises, in a voice which says he sees this as a challenging but rewarding project.

     “No thanks,” Skye replies, and for a while that’s the end of that conversation.

 

He tries again the next week, though, because Grant Ward is nothing if not persistent.

     “Imagine how much simpler it would be if you made your own breakfasts,” he cajoles that morning.

     Skye picks up her bowl in both hands and hops off the high barstool. “I like the breakfasts you make for me,” she says smugly, and then she goes to sit in the lounge and surf the internet while she eats her fruit salad.

 

“It’s important for a SHIELD agent to have a variety of skills, you know,” Simmons tells Skye three days later.

     “Don’t tell me he’s roped you into this too!” she exclaims, disbelieving. “Jemma, I don’t need to cook. I’ve managed fine for like two decades without cooking.”

 

“Urgent help required in the kitchen!” Fitz hollers on Thursday. Skye is the only person in the lounge area. They both know this.

     “Tell Ward nice try!” she yells back.

 

Coulson calls Skye into his office with a serious face. “Skye,” he begins, and it’s really not her fault if her heart starts beating faster. _What if he’s found her?_ “I do think there are certain things which are just basic, fundamental knowledge, and it’s come to my attention that you are lacking some of those… things.” The speech is delivered with less than his usual finesse, and Skye twigs immediately.

     “Honestly, AC, I thought you were better than this,” she says with a huff as she gets up to leave. She can’t make her feet carry her out of the office without one last jibe, though. “Cap would be disappointed.”

 

“Just let the man teach you to cook,” May sighs as she brushes past Skye on her way to the cockpit.

     “Okay,” Skye agrees instantly.

 

Her lessons begin the next day, with toast. She puts it in the toaster, presses the button, and sits back to wait. There is no way she can mess this up.

     Then the toaster explodes with fire and brimstone and Ward comes running in with his gun drawn.

     “What happened?”

     “I burnt the toast?” Skye suggests sheepishly, because really, there are bits of charred toaster floating around the room.

     “How…?”

     Skye can only shrug. She knew there was a reason she never learnt to cook. Also, she can’t help but smirk at the shock on Ward’s face. Did he really think this was going to be _easy?_ Silly man.

 

The next couple of incidents see Skye boiling water (to the point where it all evaporates and the pot starts boiling itself) and melting cheese on bread. No one really knows how the cheese manages to cover the _entire_ inside of the microwave, but Skye calls it an impressive feat. Ward calls it “another one of those cooking disasters”. Gradually, the rest of the team begins to congregate in the kitchen area during Skye’s lessons. She and Ward grow progressively more and more frazzled, until the infamous “frittata failure” which results in an epic saucepan duel. Skye likes to think she won, but that is probably deceiving herself.

 

Three weeks in, a strange thing happens. Instead of being confrontational and frustrated in the kitchen, they begin to enjoy themselves. The permanent frown leaves Ward’s face. Skye knows what implement he’s asking for before the words have even left his mouth. They move like a seamless unit, baking and frying with amazing precision. The meals move through good to great and quickly progress into the realm of brilliant. All of them are astonished, although no one more than Skye. Has she really achieved this? Every time she sits down to enjoy a delicious meal; potato salad and corn on the cob, chicken tikka and naan bread and the all-time favourite, pasta puttanesca (“My grandmother _could_ have been Italian,” Skye says) she gets a little thrill at the thought that she made this.

 

The lessons end. She’s strangely disappointed. Ward is, too, although he tries to hide it. His face gives it away. For a secret agent, Ward has a remarkably telegraphing face.

     Skye tries to make herself breakfast. It’s cereal. Somehow, she gets the ratio of milk to grain incorrect and ends up tipping the gluggy mixture down the sink. That evening, she tries to make pesto. The list of things which go wrong is absolutely endless and she finishes up alone in the kitchen with green goop in her hair. Ward wanders in and finds her.

     “What happened?” he asks.

     “That’s what I’d like to know,” Skye grumbles. “My genius is gone.”

     “Try again,” Ward tells her. “Slowly.”

     It’s eerily reminiscent of the way he trains her in physical combat, and so, under his watchful eye, Skye remakes her pesto. Ward hands her ingredients when she needs them, and whisks away the spares when she is done. They don’t have to speak a word to each other, just work in a companionable silence. When the meal is finished, and Skye finds herself standing there and holding a perfect bowl of pesto and spaghetti, she sighs and hits Ward on the chest.

     “What was that for?” he protests.

     “You’ve ruined me as a chef,” she explains. “I can only cook as part of a team now. You cook with me or I don’t cook at all. Deal?”

     He nods without speaking, but the corners of his mouth are tipping up. They go into the lounge and sit side by side on the couch. Skye eats.

 

That night, she slips a note under his door. It reads; _Oh, and if we ever open a restaurant together? We’re calling it Scrumptiously Skyeward. Our names together are an adverb and an adjective. That, my SO, is fate. Ready to retire from this life of crime and become a master chef?_

 

He replies the next night with a one-word message. _No._


End file.
